


Gray, blue and the winter sea

by laughingpineapple



Category: Twin Peaks
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon, Recovery, Surreal, doing my best not to be jossed, liminal spaces
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 22:32:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5472983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laughingpineapple/pseuds/laughingpineapple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They live, after all, in the best of all possible worlds. Albert has tried to convince himself of this fact for a long time – Dale sees that it is true.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gray, blue and the winter sea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cjmarlowe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cjmarlowe/gifts).



When Albert closes his eyes, he can almost pretend that there is a drink resting inches away from his hand while he's sitting in some uncomfortably postmodern beach chair, wrapped in a monogrammed towel, as the waves rolling in his ears melt into the thankfully indistinct distant chatter of guests. It takes effort to conjure the flight of fancy that any half-witted cretin would be so asinine as to build a luxury resort on a windswept beach in the middle of nowhere, Oregon, but anything would beat the vacuum sprawling in front of him. Sand. Rock. Ocean. More ocean. Isn't nature amazing.

Then again, even if a stray spark of lunacy were ever to offer him and his partner the comforts of civilization (sauna and continental breakfast preferred) in these remote lands, they would have to move. Onto even more remote destinations, fancy that.

It's one of those weeks, the times when fire is bad and electricity is too much for former special agent Dale Cooper, so here they are out in the wilderness, making the most of the scarce winter sunlight and back to their cabin before the dark. And fuck, it's cold even under two blankets, no thanks from their old bones, and Albert could swear that he saw Coop limp the other day, but it's okay.

It's okay.

It'll pass. They'll cope.

 

“Have you seen that line of blue below the horizon, Albert?”, Dale asks in a soft voice.

“Have _you_ seen a red-nosed reindeer?”

Still, he looks. And indeed, far off the coast, the ocean's managed to turn a vivid blue against the consistent drab tones of the waves and the sky. As water is wont to do, under certain, common weather conditions. Yet Coop has found some beauty in it. Coop has been known to find beauty in many a weird thing, as Albert's presence by his side can attest, and while Albert does not understand the reason behind this overwhelming love, he can at least try to keep up, in respect.

“I have found that it is unwise to dismiss a portent, regardless of its-”

“It's light reflection, Coop.”

“Have you ever taken notice of the emergence of the color blue in your life?”

Dale is falling into a dreamy lull, barely over a whisper. Albert reaches out to ruffle his white hair and caress it back in place.

“Not beyond matching ties I haven't.”

“I hesitate to call it a rift in a veiled reality, as physicist and philosopher Bernard d'Espagnat would have it, but you see, Albert, much like the clear sky when clouds part, you can experience- wait.” He tenses. Albert's hand doesn't leave his shoulder. “We are being watched.”

 

Albert's gut reply would be to let them watch, privacy be damned, in the year 2018 he is tired of hiding. But he can see the figure too, now, in the corner of his eye. It is standing by the end of the beach, leaning on the wreck of a capsized fishing boat. Is there fog at its feet? Its gaze burns.

When he turns around to get a proper look at the intruder, leaving for a moment Dale vague, unfocused and blurred at the margin, the beach is empty. Only the wind rushes by the wreck.

 

“Your same shoes”, Albert says. “Same weight.” He is kneeling down where the figure had stood, polishing his reading glasses. They have found a fresh line of footprints, implying, one would think, that the apparition was as real as the two of them, and that said footprints' decreasing depth the farther they got from the boat, until they disappeared in the grass and weeds, should be due to a change in the shoe-owner's walking speed.

“You figure we've got a stalker on our hands? When was the last time you has a stalker, Coop? I thought you'd dropped the habit in the Eighties.”

Dropping down on the wet sand to get a good view at the evidence has been easy enough; getting back up will require some degree of good will from his aching back.

“Coop?”

Albert props himself on the boat and groans. They are getting too old for this, come on.

“Coop, snap out of it.”

 

He climbs back up on his feet in time to see Dale blink and find his focus.

“I had a dream.”

“You fell into radio silence for all of twenty seconds.”

“It felt longer.”

Of course it did, Dale Cooper and linear time haven't been on friendly terms for a while. Albert offers him his open hand, they have their methods by now, touch grounds him, words ground him, Albert's very presence grounds him, leaving Albert to wonder, on bad days when nothing reaches him, if that's all the reason Dale has to tag along. Today's not too bad, as his hand gets snatched up quick and placed close to Dale's heart. There is a strained little smile, too. Not too bad.

“Out with it.”

“It was me. He was alone... and he looked at me. It happened again and again. A different person every time, I believe, but all me. Always me, always here, expecting.”

“Tell yourself to fuck off. I do it all the time.”

 

They walk back to their seat, but the uneasiness biting at their ankles has yet to be shaken off, so they follow the undertow, bright bleak afternoon sun against them.

“You must be aware that 'to expect' is a transitive verb and, as such, requires an object.”

“I was alone, Albert.”

“What?”

“I was alone, with no-one by my side, I am only now coming to this realization and it makes for a troubling aftertaste. The vision itself, however unsettling, showed no trace of being malevolent in nature.”

“As the resident Jiminy Cricket, let me point out that you would say that – that you did say that – about people with a literal gun aimed at you.”

“Ah, but she didn't shoot, did she!”

“You also said that about a town, once, if memory serves.”

Dale kicks the sand. Albert isn't proud of his retort, either, but that's the way the ball rolls. He falls one step behind as an apology.

“That, I believe, is the heart of the issue, Albert. Dear Albert.” Thanks. Now he can feel like a complete asshole. “I do not think I was ever meant to make it. Not like this.”

“Sure you weren't. We were late.”

“That's not what my vision told. The apparitions are drawn to me – their dreams were me, Albert. I am occupying this space now, but if I were to slip, they lie in wait...”

“You're talking nonsense, Coop.”

“ _Albert_.”

“Please, listen to yourself.”

 

It's their ritual. They have their methods. With a low hum, Albert walks in front of him and halts there, running the tip of his finger from his forehead to the tip of his nose. Dale nods along with the diminutive caress, so Albert knows that it's safe to wrap his arms tight around him and find mutual comfort in a kiss. Warm lips against warm lips, a hand rising up to get tangled in his white hair, breath joined together.

 

“We've made it till here. You won't slip.”

**Author's Note:**

> ...casually frames all post-canon fics in Lynch-compatible-ish multiple reality scenarios, lalala... Happy Yuletide! And I wish I could write Black Sails so I could've treated your lovely letter twice! :]


End file.
